


A Quiet Conversation

by gonekrazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Unhappy JohnCroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 10:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3352853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonekrazy/pseuds/gonekrazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little bittersweetness for Valentine's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on Arthur Conan Doyle's adapted BBC Sherlock, and is not brit-picked. So the characters aren't mine, but the mistakes are.

Mycroft sat at the restaurant table, playing with the edge of his napkin. He didn’t usually feel nervous, couldn’t actually remember the last time he had, but he could tell it had become the presiding emotion of the moment. The restaurant was bright and lively, a small location, and the sizzle of the grill and the laughter of the kitchen staff could be heard, if the clink of glasses and silverware and murmur of conversation were quiet enough. It wasn’t his favorite location, but he knew it was a favorite of the man joining him. He was hoping the noise would remain low, and not distract from his planned conversation. His stomach momentarily jumped up to his throat as he saw the handsome blond cross the room. John. 

They’d been working side by side for a few months, a case he might have inflated for the good doctor, and he thought they’d become quite close. Since Sherlock’s return and Mary’s departure, John had become increasingly less enthralled with the detective’s theatrics, so he thought. They had spent many nights pouring over files and maps, eating takeaway and Mycroft listening as John detailed all the dramatics. It seemed to him, that John was fed up with being taken for granted by the thoughtless man. Mycroft knew his brother could be distant, and was either uninterested in the return soldier, or was too neglectful to pay him the attention he deserved. But Mycroft would. He’d fallen, quite hard, for the handsome and clever man. It wasn’t a sensation he was used to, but it was now undeniable. Now the case had wrapped up, tonight was supposed to be a celebration of their hard work, and, the redhead hoped, the beginning of something new. 

Mycroft gave a small smile as John sat down, but it fell when he saw the tight line of John’s mouth. “Trouble?” he asked the blond, wishing for once the conversation didn’t revolve around Sherlock. John rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, “Oh he was in fine form tonight. Asked all about our dinner. Called it our date. Said you had no need of a person like me really, and were only putting me on the case to boost my ego and work on my feelings towards you. Like you had created this whole case, just to have us be close.” John shook his head, “The nerve, right?” 

Mycroft swallowed, considering John’s words. His hand was on the stem of his wine glass, watching the flat surface of the liquid within. This was the moment. It had all been leading here, and now was the time to tell him, and show John that he was the man the blond should choose. His mouth opened, but to his surprise, no words came out. Words never failed him, they were his constant companion and his defense, but the ones he needed now could not be found. He closed his mouth, and with a tight smile, braved meeting John’s eyes, knowing all would be revealed in a look. 

There are few moments in life that have the ability to leave such an indelible mark in memory. John’s expression as Mycroft revealed his feelings dashed all his hopes, and crushed his heart so completely it took the air from his lungs. There was an uncomfortable twist in his lips, a fear and pity in his eyes, and Mycroft knew in less than a second that he had made a mistake. He gave John an embarrassed half smile, pain in his eyes. Mycroft had never considered that his own emotions would color his perceptions. John had been complaining about Sherlock, but it was also Sherlock he thought of only. And now it Sherlock, storming across the room towards them. 

“Mycroft!” he said sharply as he approached the table, “What exactly do you think you are doing? John is mine, you know this. How dare you try to steal him from me.” The detective’s anger and jealousy had gotten the better of him. Mycroft had forgotten how immature his brother could be with emotion, and his heart broke again at the thought of having hurt the young man. 

“We were only having a quiet conversation.” Mycroft said, looking briefly at the blond. Standing, he looked at the detective coolly, “Before you make more of a scene, perhaps you should consider telling /John/ you desire him. Your jealousy has made you weak with emotion, and it is clear that you love him, as he does you. My part in this is only to make you both aware of the fact.” Mycroft lied, and stepped from his seat, motioning Sherlock to sit. 

Stunned and deflating, Sherlock moved to sit, looking warily at Mycroft as the older man moved back, and then uncertainly at John. “You,” the brunet started, turning his complete focus to John, “aren’t involved with…?” he trailed off, searching John’s face. Catching on, John smiled broadly, “No, you idiot. I love you.” he said, and shifted to pull the taller man into a kiss. When they broke for breath, Sherlock smiled, “I love you.” he said, his voice soft. 

Mycroft had heard the declaration of affection as he slipped away from the table. He looked back from the door, but the two at the table only had eyes for each other. He walked to his car, and slid in to the backseat, instructing the driver to take him home, where he would have a large glass of brandy, alone.


End file.
